


Loving You Is A Bloodsport

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, Song fic, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Fic Request: I'm just in love with that song, so I thought, maybe you could write smth with Ramsay x reader based on Bloodsport by Raleigh Ritchie? Thanks a lot :)Ramsay is attracted to the one thing he can't have: you. He would do anything to have you.





	Loving You Is A Bloodsport

**Author's Note:**

> Music Inspiration: Bloodsport by Raleigh Ritchie (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrnCnCmUrE8) Beautiful song, please listen to it.

Ramsay slammed the door in his room. He felt his anger rising from the bottom of his feet to his hips to the tips of his fingers and the pupils of his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see you with him. 

Him. What a worthless waste of space he was. Every day, he had to watch you with him. Ramsay always made his afternoon rounds in Winterfell and there you were standing there with flowers in your hair. The man would always grab at you, and you had to deal with it because you were promised to him. But what could he do? He was a bastard.

At least, that’s what your father told him. He was some kind of blacksmith. He was a respectable man with a respectable job but when Ramsay would see him talk about you it was as if you meant nothing. That you had no value, just a vessel for his future children.

He sat on his bed and tried to forget you again. It was too late for him. He had fallen for you some time ago and his heart had already decided for him. He wanted to do so much with you, but most people at Winterfell were afraid of him including you.

How could he have you? He could take you. He could just pick you up, tie you up, and take you away from everyone and everything. He could ask for your hand but he was a bastard. He had nothing. He looked out the window towards the common people below him. 

People ran around doing their job or running their errands. Ramsay was annoyed with them all. Watching their booted feet waddle to and fro. He could take one of them and just—no. He had to practice some self-control. He couldn’t just flay someone whenever he was angry or annoyed. 

A walk. Taking a walk would be nice. Ramsay stood up again, deciding that fresh air would be a better decision than taking it out on someone. Cold air greeted him when he reached outside. It bit at his cheeks, turning them red. He heard you sniffling nearby. Your blacksmith betrothed was nowhere around. Finally, he has you alone.

You were favoring your left arm. When you saw the bastard make his way towards you, you wiped away your tears and continued to do your work. He approached you slowly as if he were some dog preying on a fox.

“My lady?” he questioned you. “Are you alright? I heard sobbing.” 

“No, I’m fine,” you sucked up the pain. You weren’t going to show him any weakness. Ramsay looked back and forth, confused. He knew he heard crying.

“Are you sure?” he asked again. This time he took notice of your left arm.

“Yes,” you responded. “I’m fine.”

“My lady,” Ramsay took your arm and you winced at the surprise. He examined the skin underneath the fabric and saw bruised fingertips. “He grabbed you like this didn’t he? The blacksmith?”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Do you tell Ramsay the truth? Or do you lie and protect the blacksmith? He waited patiently for your answer. He didn’t yell at you or force you to do anything. He only held your arm and waited for an answer. Maybe you were wrong about him.

You opened your mouth and then closed it. No, you couldn’t tell him the truth. You couldn’t tell the Warden of the North’s bastard that you didn’t want to marry the blacksmith. You couldn’t tell him that he was forceful and ugly and an awful person. Why should he care?

“You can trust me,” Ramsay finally told you, breaking the silence. 

“He hurt me,” you blurted out. “He grabbed me when I didn’t want to go with him into the woods. He wanted to consummate our marriage early.” Ramsay’s grip grew tighter on you. 

“And did you?” he asked in a low voice. You felt your heart beating out of your chest. He held onto to you so tightly. This was it. He was going to punish you if you didn’t answer him right away just like everyone told you.

“No, sir. I’m still pure,” you told him the truth. Ramsay’s grip loosened. His eyes still looked at you, but they weren’t angry. They seemed relieved.

“Good,” he said. His hand slid down to your hand. He tapped it. “Very good.” Ramsay started to walk away and then he looked back at you. You returned to your work, looking unhappy. Ramsay turned back, making quick feet to you.

“Tell me what I can do,” he told you. This caught you by surprise and you dropped your yarn you were working with.

“I’m sorry?” you shook your head.

“You’re unhappy. I can’t have that,” Ramsay walked inside your corner more and noticed small details. How messy it all was. None of the yarns were organized. Papers and scrolls with patterns were held down by rocks and other hard objects. A mug filled with something hot steamed in the corner. “Tell me what I can do to change that. Do you want me to get rid of him?”

“No!” you interrupted. Ramsay stepped back.

“Do you love him?”

“No,” you confessed, looking down. “But he doesn’t deserve to die.” Ramsay thought differently. He wanted to get rid of him. If it brought a smile to your face, he would nearly do anything. 

“Then tell me what you want,” his fingers extended out towards yours. Your father walked in the corner you had to yourself.

“Y/N, go back home. Your mother needs help with supper,” he ordered you. You ducked under your father’s arm and scurried back home. You sighed a breath of relief. You were finally away from him, but one thought lingered: why was he so desperate to make you happy?

Ramsay stared at your father for a moment, but before he could say anything, one of Roose’s men fetched Ramsay. Father and bastard son rode out to the northern fields together, and they came back as father and legitimate son. Ramsay wore the proudest smirk on his face. 

He thought of all the new things he could do. Word travelled fast in Winterfell. Several of the common people cowered, others didn’t look at him out of fear. Oh yes, this was going to be so much fun. Then he saw you. 

You stood next to the blacksmith unhappily, and you couldn’t look at him. The blacksmith, showing no fear, shook his head at Ramsay, expressing his disapproval. The blacksmith leaned over and kissed your cheek. You cringed, and Ramsay’s stomach turned. He had it. A thought popped into Ramsay’s head. He knew how he would celebrate his new title tonight.

The blacksmith did not expect five men to burst into his home that night. He was desperately unprepared for his new lord to come and capture him. He had no idea what was coming for him. Needlessly to say, that was the last night the blacksmith ever saw the snow fall from the northern sky.

When a servant fetched for you, you had thought Roose Bolton was going to ask you about your father’s work. You were very much excited for him. Your father was a hardworking man who was only trying to do his best for his family. If he had Roose’s favor, it would mean the world to him. 

That was when you greeted with a flayed dead body swinging from chains in front of your e/c eyes. It only took you a minute to recognize the dead body as the blacksmith. You screamed at the surprise and horror.

“He’s gone now. He won’t bother you anymore,” Ramsay stepped into the room. His hands barely touching your back. “Do you like it?”

“Wha-what is this?”

“You don’t like it,” Ramsay frowned. “I thought you would be glad to see him gone.”

“I told you he doesn’t deserve to die!”  
“You said you didn’t love him. Why do you care so much?” he questioned you. It was a valid question. You stepped back from the hanging body. You looked at the newly rotting flesh and thought about your next words carefully.

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands over your mouth. You felt like panicking, but your father’s words reminded you to show Ramsay no weakness. 

“You’re sorry?” his eyebrow cocked. You started to shake your head.

“I don’t want this. I never wanted this,” you pointed to the blacksmith.

“He hurt you, did he not?” Ramsay half-laughed. “Don’t you understand, silly girl? Don’t you understand what I would do for you?” Ramsay grabbed your hand and kept you close. He pulled you in close to him and he heard your short breathing. He felt your hands shaking. He watched your hold back your tears.

Ramsay let go of you, and you couldn’t take it much longer. You took off running away from him. Ramsay watched your hair whip behind you. He half-laughed to himself. “You hate me. You hate me so much, don’t you?”


End file.
